Suits, Roads, and Sleepwalking in Technicolor
by Jake Caldefore
Summary: He wants to sleep. Promptshot response to The Firm's Monthly Challenge - "Sleepwalking." May, 2009.


**Suits, Roads, and Sleepwalking in Technicolor**

Jake Caldefore

The Firm's Monthly Challenge – May 2009

"Sleepwalking"

* * *

He didn't sleepwalk. Not _really_. At times he'd just find himself in a different place, a bit here, a bit there – always in between, never a solid yes or no. He was always the gray space, and would forever be the gray space. The world was only black in white in the old John Wayne films. Real life – his life, the one filled with danger – was played in full-blown Technicolor. Possibly in Hi-Definition.

He didn't like the gray space. He always tried to diverge away from it. If there was a fork in the road, he'd take the one that wasn't being guarded by a suit. Or tried to, at least. The gray space was picky and interfered with his map. The suits would manhandle him in whichever direction they so desired.

He tried going down are different road in the darkest of night, when even the manipulative suits themselves would sleep. He was too tired himself to walk the treacherous steps into the other side, so he shut himself down, and let his mind wander down it instead.

She had worried. Just like the mother hen, she worried. What's wrong? she would ask. Nothing's wrong. I'm fine, he would reply. She'd give him a hidden look that he caught anyway, and they would turn and leave to do their own things. She had noticed a change in him. He would seem to wander ceaselessly, restlessly, always moving, always thinking, walking, looking, hearing, living. But he wasn't feeling. He wasn't _really_ living. He was alive, yes, but he could not feel. What is life without feeling?

But when he was _sleeping_... He was so peaceful, calm, serene. She would watch by her post in the dimly lit hallway, watching him sleep. She'd listen to the deep, deep breathing, never disturbed or interrupted. She would touch him sometimes, gently, softly, sure he would crumble into dust if she breathed too hard. He could _feel_ when he was asleep. She'd stroke his hair, his cheek, his shoulder, and he'd lean into the warm touch and feel, _feel_.

She never understood why – never would, probably. He wasn't one for opening up. All she knew was that when he slept, it was different. Different how, she didn't know. He wasn't plagued by nightmares or flashbacks. He was somewhere peaceful, where he could finally fall into the warm, comforting embrace of sleep.

He suspected she knew something. Of course, she wouldn't know about the suits, or the road he'd wander down. He could feel her safe presence in his sleep, which drove away the suits and helped him faster down the road.

The waking moments were hard. It seemed like the suits had somehow caught up with him and roughly grabbed him, disturbing his path. They'd shake him and yell at him a little, and then they'd throw him off the road, laughing as they watched him tumble to the brink of awareness. The tumble was more like a fall, and he came out more dazed and confused rather than aware.

He lays in bed for a minute – maybe more – before he rolls out from under the snug covers. He can smell the ten minute breakfast waiting in the kitchen as she hums out of tune to a song on the radio, the volume turned down. She does it so he can sleep longer, longer in his world that is safe and comfortable, more so than the real world he lives in – the dangerous, Technicolor world.

Talking is a chore. She will speak in long, page-length paragraphs and he will answer with ten words or less. She sometimes thinks the Technicolor world is unfair and has made him mute. He does not laugh. He does not cry. He merely exists in his corner of the Technicolor world, shying away from touch – the same touch she would give him in his sleep.

He still exists in the gray space. Only, the gray space hides now. In the cracks, as the shadows that escape the rays of pure light. He doesn't want to shy away from the sun. He wants to bloom and be a part of the Technicolor world. But the suits always drag him back, lurking in the shadows, the remnants of the old world. How do you put color in a shadow?

He is restless, and will not stop walking, thinking, looking, or wishing. What does he wish? He wants to go to sleep, and walk down that same road just another few times. He is too skittish to sleep, but when he does, it is pure bliss. He tells her he tries to tire himself out to get more rest, but it isn't the whole story. He wants to travel the road, farther, farther away from the suits, and out of sight into the colorful world.

When he sleeps, he walks down that road, farther from the suits, and closer to the life he's always wanted in the world of Technicolor.


End file.
